the libertine's gambit
by mercury dagger
Summary: For years, Dib thought that Zim had abandoned the Earth. In his last year of high school, he had almost gotten used to having a "normal" life - until Gaz took him to that party and it all went straight back to hell. ZADR, ex-PRAZR, High School, semi-AU.
1. the beginning of the end

Hello again! Well, I'm finally here with the actual story I've started. Uh, well, I don't know what else to say other than let's hope I can actually carry through with the whole thing. 8D; If you've gotten used to my fairly frequent updating, well, that's going to end with this: the sentence sets as well as this prologue I'd actually already written. So now you'll get updates in real-time, haha. XD

So, since this is an actual story, here's some warnings for you: xenophilia, m/m, interminable building-up of plot, Dib being a soft and squishy highschooler. Well, hopefully less of the last two, anyway. :| Oh yeah, and just in case it warrants mentioning, **THIS IS ZADR. And that is your final warning. |D**

Thank you, as always, to** sweet_tard** on LJ for beta-reading this for me. c: I find Zim much easier to write, but anyway, with her help hopefully the Dib-thing is as close to in-character as possible, haha. Also, don't worry - this is just a little taste to get started, so Zim isn't in this chapter, but he'll show up soon enough. ;D

Invader Zim © Jhonen Vasquez. Enjoy, everybody. c:

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**PROLOGUE - THE BEGINNING OF THE END  
**

After four years, he had never expected his life to be so normal.

It was the first day of his last year of high school. At one point, he hadn't even been sure he would make it this far – being dragged into an interstellar invasion had made him wonder for a while, after all – but rather than relief or accomplishment, lately he had come to realize that most of what he felt was apathy. Not in the usual angsty teenager sense, he would always object, but – well, for however much he had once wanted the chance to calmly pack things into his backpack, attend lessons without interruption, and go about his day with no attempts on his life, the novelty of it all had begun to wear off.

He would wonder sometimes where it all went. Less than he had in the beginning – but a lot of the time, when he was walking through the halls of the school exactly like this: it wasn't the same one that had seen so many battles between them, but the reflexes were so ingrained that he still expected a ball of steaming plasma hurled at him around every corner, even if he had left that life behind a long time ago. Everything surrounding that fateful day seven years before had become to him a strange blur, a flickering hologram of something which seemed now a not-quite completed fairy tale that had nevertheless ended suddenly and abruptly the summer after eighth grade; from the first rainy afternoon when he realized in so many words that his evidence, his tenuous claim to vindication, his _proof_ had abandoned him, all of those middle-school adventures seemed to have turned into water and slid inexorably from his grasp.

Of course it wasn't as if he had completely cut himself off from the past. It still occasionally came back to haunt him, more often than not in the form of Gaz (who had become bearable) or Torque Smacky (who had become less so) but the connection between now and then still felt strange. He still knew more about the paranormal than anyone in a hundred miles, sure, but he was no longer _that_ Dib – he still couldn't resist a flash of hopeful excitement whenever someone mentioned anything out of the ordinary, but even though he'd become accustomed to this new, strange treatment by his classmates after all of the time he'd had to contemplate it he still couldn't tell whether the change was good or bad.

Today, though, the first time he saw Gaz during the school day was not immediately after being beaten with something heavy and probably possessed. In fact, if he thought about it, she hadn't raised a hand against him all day – something must have been wrong with her. She was waiting for him when he got back to his locker, gloomy and intimidating as always but suspiciously devoid of open hostility. He raised an eyebrow.

"I presume you haven't heard about it yet," she said by way of a greeting. "There's going to be a party tonight two blocks over from us."

When he didn't answer immediately, she rolled her eyes.

"Dad still won't let me out of the house unless you come with me," she explained, as if talking to a child. "Therefore, _dearest_ brother, you will be coming with me."

Dib stood there for a moment, about dumbstruck (though he knew he shouldn't have been) and realizing vaguely that he should be getting on his way to classes. He should have been used to this treatment by now, but it shocked him every time.

"You know I hate parties, right?" he said finally, hurriedly beginning to shuffle books in and out of his backpack.

"Since when do I care?"

He supposed, on reflection, he should have seen that coming.

"Look, Gaz, you can call me whatever you want," he conceded, "but I don't have any particular desire to go out and get drunk, even if it is our senior year…"

"I'm not going to drink," she shot back. "I'm going because unlike you I don't intend to squirrel myself away for the next four years. Networking, Dib. It's the way of the future." She looked at him, almost daring him to speak, before she added in a softer tone, "You know, it would do you some good to have a little fun once in a while…"

Dib sighed, leaning against the locker behind him. He didn't really want to go – but, well, the idea of fun was tempting. Gaz did – in a weird, horrible way – care about him, and if they were going together he would at least have someone to talk to. It _was _only the beginning of the school year, after all, so he wouldn't be doing anything too reckless; and, well, the idea of fun was looking more and more tempting…

"Alright," he sighed finally. He was sure he'd come to regret this later. "I'll go with you."

Gaz smiled, victorious as he guessed she'd known she would be.

"Don't be late," she drawled. "I'll meet you on the steps in front of school when classes get out, like always."

He nodded, trying not to feel too defeated, before she disappeared around the corner and he realized he was already five minutes into his next class.


	2. follow the white rabbit

Hurrah! The second chapter is finally here. :D In addition to all of the wonderful warnings outlined in the prologue, in this chapter we come upon the first appearance of conlang!Irken and my despairing tendency to go months without updating, haha. Anyway, to anybody who was actually interested in the story, I apologize for the massive delay in posting and offer the hopeful assertion that I've already started the chapter following this one. I've felt like I've been in a funk with this story up until, like, yesterday, haha. I've gone through a good four or five drafts and I've even descended to badgering non-fandom friends to beta for me, too, ahahaha. This chapter taught me that I can write neither chase scenes nor drunken teenagers, but in the overall plot there's not really anything too big that's lost by it. Hopefully, anyway. 8|; Now, though, in regards to actually writing the story down I feel like I'm completely back on track - my notes file is over 15,000 words and I've already got a good 500 or so done on the next chapter! :'D

Thank-yous for this chapter go to my fabulous beta-readers **sweet_tard** and **tsukidelacroix** on LJ, as well as to everybody who was so kind as to leave a review or follow the story. Any of these make me really happy, and I thank everyone who even just reads this story from the bottom of my heart. :)

Anyway, without further ado, I leave you the reminder that Invader Zim © Jhonen Vasquez and hope you all enjoy! c:

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**CHAPTER I - FOLLOW THE WHITE RABBIT**

_Follow the white rabbit, Neo._

In the end, it had been a lot more fun than he'd expected. He had never been to a party like this before, but Gaz had given him all of her long-suffering tutelage and he'd made it to the point of finally drinking; he did love his little sister, of course, but as he kept sipping down this "Zombie" thing she turned so fabulously funny, and he somewhat fuzzily wondered how he ever could have not wanted to come. He had been relegated to the corner of the couch for a while, but with the sweet taste of the pineapple and rum still on his lips he couldn't bring himself to mind too terribly.

"You sure you don't want another?" someone, possibly one of Gaz' friends, had asked. "I'll make you something myself." Smiling back at him, Dib could only nod. Talking then had seemed rather too difficult, but another one of these had sounded good. He made it out to the kitchen since then, of course – he'd gotten tired of waiting and started searching for the punch bowl on his own – but everything had seemed to be going okay.

Until he realized who was standing right in front of him.

All the years since they had last seen each other seemed suddenly to melt down into minutes. After the first flash of eye contact between them they seemed both to have frozen, a little glass of the punch held awkwardly in his three-fingered hand and Dib gaping over the rim of his red plastic cup; he was still green, still with that little backpack, still in that flimsy disguise and the sinister imperious uniform, now probably a good half-head shorter than the human he stood across from but still with the presence and carriage that would have fit even someone ten times his height – and, more importantly than anything else, unlike the flickering visions and half-baked daydreams Dib had known for the past five years, he hadn't disappeared.

"Holy hell," Dib murmured softly, taking a long swig out of what drink he had left. There wasn't enough alcohol in the world for this, but he tried to coax it out of his cup anyway; the last of the soft chill spread pleasantly down his throat but otherwise gave him absolutely nothing with which to confront this new and terrifying reality.

"Zim…?" he whispered.

He didn't say anything; if anything the green boy looked as if he had been suddenly rooted to the spot. Dib was staring into the strangely flat contacts as if they were the most interesting things in the world, and to him at that moment they were. Here was the dream he thought he had lost years ago, staring back at him as plain as day with all of the distantly-familiar irritation and contempt perfectly intact, despite what time had passed; he couldn't believe it, he had to have been hallucinating – there must have been something in the punch, that bastard from earlier had spiked his first drink, none of this was real and this was a _terrible_ party.

When he felt his nails digging into the skin of his palm, though, he didn't wake up. The fleeting realization crossed his mind that this must have been real.

Dib wasn't sure what this would mean, if it were real.

He had paused for a moment, still unable to break the gaze of those horrible contact lenses and still half-sure that he'd slipped through the cracks somehow back to the terrible dreamworld inside his mind. He almost could have said that he hadn't hoped for this in his wildest dreams, he reflected faintly, but he _had_; the fact that he had never expected this to happen didn't dampen the breathless excitement he felt suddenly coursing through his veins, the strange not-knowing of what he should do, the hesitation which lingered over his lips and kept him from saying anything more, and neither did it quench the fervor with which the responses in his mind were starting to overwhelm him.

Seven years ago, he would have expected Zim to bolt. Now, though, it came almost as a surprise.

For the first few seconds, Dib could only marvel over the rim of his glass, to see Zim turn like that and slip out of the room like lightning. Without so much as a thought, though, he dropped the cup and followed suit.

The sliding glass door leading off the kitchen had been left open in the warm late-summer night, and he crossed through onto the patio only a few seconds after Zim. He could find no logical reason to follow him like this but the die had already been cast and he could think of nothing outside of this chase – now this really was like a dream, as if the fable he had known long ago were back again. Zim had already brought out those terrifying spider legs, leaping over the cedar-shaded wooden slats just as if they were both back in grade school, and despite being both unconditioned and drunk he pelted headlong after him anyway.

The fence would have been impassable – he was tall, but not as tall as those legs – and instead of trying to follow Zim directly he at least still possessed the good sense to dart out the side gate and down the sidewalk. There was already a good ten or fifteen yards between them, but he ran like he could not remember running for years; the stupid green alien had already slipped through his fingers once, and he wasn't about to let it happen again, not even if he was drunk as a fish and barely able to keep his balance as he barreled down the street. For the first time that evening, he cursed himself for drinking so much. He only hoped he could still follow quickly enough.

They were racing along well enough as it was, flitting quickly enough through the various neighborhoods and developments that had surrounded the party (Dib thought again) as if they were back in middle school. Zim had lost a few seconds in climbing up to the rooftops, something Dib wouldn't have trusted himself with even when sober, but he could still follow the general trajectory they were following well enough from the ground, and he tried fumblingly through the haze hanging around his mind to guess at where he was being led. He miraculously managed to dodge the few pedestrians and street signs, but then the street came to a dead end and on the edge of his vision he saw toothpick-thin metal legs leap across the gap between rooftops. He sighed. Now he'd would have to resort to cutting through yards.

It wasn't unthinkable. In fact he didn't even feel that apprehensive about the act itself, since he'd certainly done more illegal things than trespassing – but the inaction of the past five years on this particular front had made him rusty. He started out anyway. In the same unshakeable haze in which he _swore _he would never drink like that again he managed in the space of a hundred or so yards to trip over his own shoes several times, do a beautiful job of snarling up the Hoopers' gardenias, and even solicit a lazy, complacent growl out of the old chihuahua luxuriating on a lawn down the block – but when he turned sharply back after his impromptu shortcut out onto the sidewalk, and realized where he was, he could have kicked himself.

Of course Zim had been leading him back here; of _course_ Zim had been heading back to the weird-looking house at the end of the court. He had always known it was still standing, but years ago the lights had gone out and a decapitated body had been found strewn across the sidewalk the next morning – there had been a general panic and a sham of an investigation, but his frightened thirteen year-old self had never dared to pry further than that. As he stared defiantly down the empty street, he couldn't believe he had allowed himself to stop back then. He could feel each step travel up his legs as he walked. A small voice in his mind protested that this was really not a good idea, and that he should turn away from all of this or decide to wake up, but he continued to stubbornly, resolutely follow the path down to that strangely familiar green house, intent and headstrong and absolutely self-certain. The vague resentment and irritation that had been the only things he allowed himself to feel since Zim left blossomed suddenly and fully into unmasked, choking ire; he wondered blandly where it had come from, without trying further to resist it, wondering too how everything else seemed to dissolve outside of the thought of that infuriating green alien and how he thought he could just _show up_ again and come back _into_ his life with no prelude and then run away like a _bleeding _coward.

Coming to a stop a few feet in front of the gate, Dib realized faintly that he could not remember ever before feeling this way before: disorientation and confusion, yes, his heart racing blindly out of control but mostly – and more than anything else – anger.

He had marched up to the edge of the front walk before stopping. The tips of his fingers tingled, and he could almost feel the blood rushing around under his skin; the house seemed to glow defiantly at him, the lights on in the windows for the first time Dib could remember, and in the end he couldn't keep quiet for any longer.

"Come out," he called out hoarsely. For a half-second, he was surprised – he hadn't expected his throat to be so dry. "Come out! I know you're in there!"

The house continued its stony silence. He held on tenuously to the fence, feeling an unfamiliar wobble in his step, but the gnomes didn't even flick. His stomach was turning and wringing in nerves – his heart was beating out of control, and try as he might to calm down and breathe slowly he couldn't beat back the sudden wave of anxiety.

"Come out here, Zim!" he called again. "Come out here and face me!"

Nothing. The only sounds were those of the half-sleeping neighborhoods surrounding them, and despite the knot in his throat the quiet had become unbearable.

"Why didn't you come back, you coward?"

With an instant, powerful crack, the sun-faded restroom door slammed open and the world seemed to turn on its head. Zim was only standing just over the threshold, risen up threateningly on the spider legs, but for the sudden change of mood he might as well have rushed him. He was still wearing those contacts, but Dib swore he could see the red of his eyes behind them glowing through, and for the first time the human boy wondered if he really should not have thought better of this plan.

"Should you dare to insult my honor ever again," Zim said, softly and furiously, "I'll make good on my promise to rip the beating heart from your chest."

Dib could only stare then – he could not remember hearing of that _particular_ promise before.

"You figure nothing – _nothing_ – in the greater scheme of things," he continued, still speaking in that metallic angry hiss. "I owe you nothing, human. You cannot comprehend the forces you toy with and you would have done far better to have left well enough alone."

"Where were you?" Dib called out, trying to infuse his voice with the courage he had felt a few seconds ago. An unplaceable emotion had inexplicably overwhelmed him, but he would not suffer again to hold his tongue; he had done enough of that since middle school. "How did you think you could just up and leave like that, huh?"

"You should have fallen by my hand when I first came to this planet," the alien snarled cruelly. "And I _assure_ you that had I not ended up a defective in exile—"

The sudden silence when he interrupted himself took Dib off-guard. Even more strange was the shocked, soft crumble of his impervious façade – the unsettling unsure way in which he seemed almost to shrink down, eyes never wavering but with an expression Dib had never seen him wear before.

"Ssthai," Zim mumbled faintly, his eyes wide and speaking suddenly in a voice only just loud enough for Dib to hear. He remained perched on his extra legs, but the proud, cruel air around him had suddenly and inexplicably shattered like glass; as he sank almost imperceptively backwards for one timorous moment Dib felt his heart skip, and an ominous shiver ran down his spine. He could never remember Zim looking like that before, and in turn he felt a flash again of that emotion he wasn't sure he could explain.

"Zim," Dib mumbled then, almost gently. He had been cut to the quick – it wasn't like either of them to end the game so suddenly. "…Zim?"

All he received in reply was another loud crack just as he had a few minutes earlier, as Zim vanished like smoke back into the house.


	3. the boy who kicked the hornet's nest

Oh look! I'm back from the dead! Annnnd I'm sure no one even remembers me now, haha. DX

Anyway, I really apologize to anyone who was waiting for this fic. I was bogged down first by the holidays and then by a chronic case of panic, thinking that the story was horrible and no one wanted to read it, and _then_ I got a delicious, horrible idea for a new story. So I've only just recently sent this through to my betas and gotten it into something...publishable. XD

Speaking of which, I would like to give HUGE thank-yous to my betas for this chapter: **Tovc**, **Bozeia**, and **angels_burn** over in LJ-land. :D You guys were fantastic and exceedingly patient with me, and I'm so grateful for all of your help. Thank you as well to everybody who's read this far! I hope you like the new chapter. c:

Now, with that, I leave you the reminder that Invader Zim © Jhonen Vasquez and hope you all enjoy! cx

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**CHAPTER II - THE BOY WHO KICKED THE HORNET'S NEST**

Saturday. Early morning. The sky was almost bright – the sun had just barely risen over the rooftops, and a seasonable cool had crept in just enough to keep the air fine and clear.

Today was the _perfect_ Zim-hunting day.

Of course, he hadn't done any of this since sixth grade, but that certainly hadn't stopped him this morning. His twelve year-old self would have killed for a glorious day like this. In his hangover-induced madness he had even dug up all of his old gear – consisting of course solely in the old field binoculars and a well-worn, dusty notebook – and tramped resolutely the sixteen blocks from his house to here, facing the strange, ominous green house on the opposite edge of the cul-de-sac through what he hoped was still a relatively protective mesh of leaves. His hidey-bush seemed a good deal smaller than it had when he was twelve, but still, he decided, it would be good enough for today's reconnaissance. He had set up his little camp and started his observations in earnest a good couple of hours ago, now.

Just like so many of the times he'd tried this years ago, for the most of the time he'd been waiting nothing really interesting had happened. The dull thump of his aching head remained one of the few distractions from the medicinal green house. For a while, the lady next door had been…watering…her baby?…but, um, that had eventually (mercifully) stopped, leaving only the occasional entrance or exit of a car to cause any further disturbance.

He was trying dutifully to take notes, trying to ignore how his penmanship – already a messy scrawl back then – had utterly disintegrated over the course of the past five years, when he realized how unenthusiastic he felt towards taking them. He looked down somewhat guiltily at the meager half-page or so he had collected since his arrival, flicking sullenly through the last few pages and being greeted only by all the usual mundanities that years ago had filled up so many pages and seemed to be of such great import: 9:45, lime-green (1) sedan in, third house cc, 9:46, stroller and mother walking around, teal (1) station wagon in, 9:49, Postman – visits 1, 2, 3, 5th houses from cc, drops off packages at 1, 3 and 5, 9:52 teal sw out, lgsedan1 out, 9:54, mother and baby return.

To his own chagrin, when he looked over what he'd managed to take down today, he couldn't help but notice the marked absence of anything actually pertaining to Zim.

A feeble-voiced, ache-wearied portion of his mind argued that his younger self would have been mortified. Two hours, and only half a page? Hah – as _if_; the old Dib would go through two or three of these notebooks in a week, maybe more, and here he'd been puttering around for a whole _two_ _hours_ with only a handful of scribbling to show for it. Pathetic! the little voice sighed. No self-respecting paranormal investigator could live with themselves if they tried seriously to pass off this sort of nonsense as observation.

The rest of him, though, retorted tiredly that there was nothing else to be done. The only other way to get "observation" would have been going inside the house itself. He knew perfectly well what he had seen and heard last night; five years hadn't made him a fool. He was also still completely hung over, super-fancy-ultra Membrane pills or no, and five years out of practice. Zim had seemed pissed as hell with him until the sudden and inexplicable wilt that had come along at the end. If he tried any more to tempt fate, Dib reflected, he was sure he couldn't count on such fortune again. He wasn't about to blow this chance, he insisted resolutely, however slow or unexciting it might have seemed, by hazarding the stupid assumption that "no" meant "yes."

Naturally, this certainly didn't negate the possibility that he might be stupid enough to roll up and storm the base as he once used to do. The clear light of the daytime had dissolved the sinister glow of the house, and despite his sullenly timid observation from across the circle last night's tantalizing taste of his old life had been far too strong to ignore. It was obvious, after all, from the distraction evident in his notes. But – okay, how on earth was he even supposed to get past the sidewalk? He had the instantaneous disadvantages of a terrific hangover and of having long grown soft, with the added bonuses of the unnerving gnomes and a murderous alien hell-bent on the destruction of his person; he was armed, not with anything even remotely useful, but with a Moleskine journalist notebook, a dollar-store ballpoint pen, and a burning, nigh-suicidal curiosity.

The traitorous voice appeared again, though, and reflected enticingly that he had once been far worse equipped than that.

No. It was – look, he told himself, of course he wanted to go inside, and had he been twelve again he would have stormed up and been summarily wasted without further consideration. But nothing was going to get him to _purposely_ go into a house with a bloodthirsty alien who had admitted a promise to kill him. That was self-preservation, he insisted, and not cowardice. Sure, all of the curiosity and intensity he had repressed since he last saw Zim had been slowly bubbling back up – he had gone from wistful radio silence to sitting reconnaissance practically in Zim's front yard literally overnight – but, well, he didn't have any real desire to die a painful and inglorious death; he was sure Zim wouldn't give back the body, and even if he and Gaz got along tolerably enough now he _knew_ she would laugh.

But – come _on_. (That stupid voice.) The yard was _right there_.

He looked up from the notebook to the stretch of grass he could see through the gap in the fence. It looked so green, and vibrant, and full of exciting possibilities, just like he remembered – honestly, it would have been so easy to just slip through. There looked to be only two gnomes now, not the four that he remembered, and he was – well, okay, out of shape, but he was no longer drunk, and he hadn't lost any of his natural speed or agility. If there was some opening he could sneak into after darting past the gnome field, there was some chance he could get inside.

It was a crazy idea: a nonsensical, masochistic, crazy idea. He hesitated, even in his own head, to insist that it therefore "just might work" – he knew very well that it would probably be the most dangerous thing he had ever done and that there was a pretty good chance it would result in horrible bodily trauma. But the intrigue and curiosity he felt at finally having this back in his life – they had captured him. Even if he could just walk away now and live a normal repercussion-free life, the only thing he could focus on at that moment was the house, the stupid glowing green house even an _idiot_ should have seen to be very much one hundred percent not. right.

He couldn't help a long-suffering sigh. After all, he had never wanted a normal, repercussion-free life – it wasn't as if he could very well let this go, could he?

Already feeling the heartbeat pounding through his chest, he suddenly and silently pulled himself onto his knees and stuffed the notepad and pen back into his bag. He shoved them under the cover of the leaves, hoping to any of a number of deities that he'd be coming back to retrieve them, and then turned towards the little clearing he had been watching out from. At the worst, he thought resolutely as he wriggled out from the relative safety of the bush, Zim already knew he was there and would continue in his usual tradition of overkill. The poor little human now beginning a furtive, headlong dash towards his fence might not even have the chance to know what hit him.

Dib knew that if he was going to do this, it had to be done all in one shot. He leapt headlong out of the hedge and darted across the blacktop, gritting his teeth and throwing his full weight behind every step such that he couldn't have stopped himself even if he tried. He threw out his hands and prayed he'd paid enough attention in gym to remember how to jump over hurdles, and as it was he managed sloppily enough to vault himself over and into the front yard – he was so surprised that he had gotten that far he nearly faltered, and without thinking he ran blindly up to the door as if it would offer some sort of protection.

He could have kicked himself. Any second, now, he would hear that uncanny whirring noise as they whirled around to meet him, and feel the smoking burn of the lasers against his skin, meeting that inglorious end he had been imagining so vividly only moments ago—

He stood there quivering for a few seconds before he noticed that he hadn't started to sizzle. Nothing hurt. There had been no grinding of gears as the statues turned to face him.

Something was wrong.

The gnomes had flicked – he had seen them with his own eyes, before he cowered up to the door and screwed them shut in anticipation of horrible, fiery retribution. But there had been nothing, not even a warning shot!

Maybe they'd simply not registered him as a threat?

He couldn't help snorting at that. Yeah, and maybe hell had frozen over.

Turning around, he realized again that everything now hung by a thread. There was no time for thinking. He was faced with only the same absurd door, the ultraviolet-indigo color long faded in the sun but impervious and unyielding as ever. Trial and error had taught him long ago that no amount of pounding would work, as well as that he could stand here and yell until he was blue in the face with similar results.

Almost as if a voice had whispered in his ear, he remembered what he'd said to draw Zim out last night. He hesitated – the promise Zim had revealed was still fresh in his mind and he realized suddenly that he had gotten himself into far more trouble than he had bargained for. Dib swallowed hard, only to be reminded of his vigorous case of cottonmouth and swear (_again_) that he would never so much as touch alcohol if he made it out of this.

He had to do it, he insisted to himself. The taste last night had been too tantalizing, too luscious and transient and enticing to let go – let the die be cast.

Knocking, then, as loudly as he could despite how futile he was sure it was, he took one last deep breath in an attempt to steel himself. "Come out here, Zim," he called softly, as if speaking so that only the door could hear. "I know I saw you last night. I remember what you said! Prove to me you're not a coward!"

Before he knew what had happened, he felt a vacuum open as the door pulled back and realized, almost detachedly, that he had been sucked inside. The first thing he felt was a searing crack across his back as he was slammed up against the opposite wall.

It was Zim, of course, silent-shaking furious as he had been last night and pulled up again to the full height of his mechanical legs. The second thing he noticed was the way his legs dangled in the lack of anything solid under – Zim had pushed him up against the wall, shoving him neatly back by the shoulders with a strength belying his small frame. Dib was pinned a good three or four feet up off the floor.

"Filthy human," he growled, deceptively softly. "Your enormous head won't even make a decent trophy."

Dib tried instinctively to break free of his grasp; he knew it was stupid, but as he struggled he found that Zim's grip was like iron – he couldn't understand how hands so small and thin were still impossible to break out of.

"Where have you been, Zim?" he said hoarsely. Any eloquence he possessed had been lost in the ocean of panic that had enveloped him. "Why did you leave?"

Zim shook his head, almost as if he were trying to clear his head. "I told you to never again insult my honor," he quipped sharply. "I told you yesterday that it doesn't _concern_ you – you shouldn't have even heard it in the first place!"

"Why shouldn't I have heard it?" Dib demanded. "Is this some sort of new, idiotic plan you've cooked up? What makes you think you're so important now?"

"A stupid human wouldn't understand it," the alien spat. "Like I said last night – I should have killed you when I had the chance. And I assure you," he hissed, "that I will not make the same mistake twice."

At that point Dib almost felt something snap. The infuriating change in Zim should have been expected, he guessed, but he came to realize very quickly and forcefully that he hated it. He struggled again, to the same end he had reached before; this time, he managed to get his hands around Zim's wrists before giving up.

"What is your sudden problem with me, Zim?" he asked, trying (again) in vain to jerk his shoulders away from the wall. "Are you so mad you can't go through with whatever this plan is that you feel you've got to take it out on me? How can you screw up so badly you've got to resort to that, huh?"

With that Zim wrung his hands cruelly tighter into the fabric of Dib's clothes, contorting his expression into one that could only be described as pure loathing. "_Fine,_" the alien spat. "If you'd really like to hear it so badly before you die then here it is: I'm a _defective_, worm-baby, as you heard last night, and I was sent here in exile, not for the invasion. Since the trial your pitiful planet has taken second place to revenge."

"Revenge…for being exiled?" Even now, for a flicker of a moment, he couldn't escape the surreal thought that it was _certainly_ something Zim would do…

"For the insult of underestimating me," Zim corrected him sharply. "For nearly five full revolutions of this filthy dirt-ball I've been working on the last great scheme to come out of my glorious head. I've come too far to let something like you distract me now."

Dib – clearly having some sort of death wish – couldn't resist a reply; it had been so long since he'd last had the opportunity for such verbal sparring, even if he had fallen horribly out of shape as with everything else in this regard. "It mustn't be a very good plan," he pointed out sullenly, "for it to take five years and not even be finished."

For only a second, Dib thought he saw some other emotion flicker across his face, but sure enough it was quickly replaced by the usual impervious haughty façade.

"It's not something a human could understand," the green boy spat, relaxing only slightly as he drew himself up to rest more parallel to his captive. "I lack only certain materials you provincial incompetents haven't discovered on your own yet. Irken ships are rare enough in this sector, and much more so now, but I assure you stink-beast that it is only a matter of time before I can find one and scrap it for what I need."

Zim seemed to have gotten lost in his head for a moment, now that he had finished his grand speech; but before Dib could say anything he heard him begin once again to speak very subtly and intently.

"With that," he said softly, "I will embark on a last and probably suicidal mission. You and the rest of the filthy earth-apes can continue rolling around in the dirt in peace."

About to try and bring up another half-hearted reply, Dib found himself cut off again as he was pulled back out from the wall and turned promptly around. What Zim had just said scared him – it had brought back that ugly unsure feeling from last night, the uncomfortably sentimental notion that Zim's absence would hurt him. He struggled again, though he was sure it would be in vain just like the other times.

"Why would you do that, Zim?" he asked. "For something that supposedly doesn't even care about you?"

Zim only snarled at that. "The idea isn't unknown even here on this pathetic planet," he countered. "I'm not going to explain it to you."

They had already reached the door. Zim pressed a few buttons on a panel with one of the metallic legs, and dropped his quarry down after marching over towards the door in what Dib hoped was only preparations to toss him out the door. He had to play his final card.

"I have Tak's ship," he blurted out, suddenly and irrevocably.

Zim stopped dead in his tracks.

"You still have her runner?" he asked softly.

Dib nodded, staring at the door with all the concentration he could manage as if it would protect him. "I re-downloaded my personality into it a long time ago but I got out of tinkering with it when you – when I thought you were gone," he mumbled. "It's still in my garage."

Everything seemed suddenly to stop; there was a moment where the whole world seemed to hang on the silence between them.

Zim seemed to consider something before mumbling what sounded distinctly like swearing.

"It'll probably be impossible to hack into with a human personality in it," he snarled. "Nevertheless, I'll be taking it." He dropped down from the metal legs, tossing Dib down only at the last minute and grabbing his wrist only a moment after that. Opening the front door with his free hand, he pushed Dib through and started frogmarching him forward. "And you, Dib-beast, are going to help me crack it."


End file.
